


like a light i'm luring you

by aquaexplicit



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, And Eobard Being An All Around Terrible Person, Bad Things Are Referenced/Implied, Confrontations, Detective!Cisco, Established Relationship, Hitman!Eobard, Including Character Death, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, and kidnapping, and torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquaexplicit/pseuds/aquaexplicit
Summary: Eobard has no problem keeping his double life as a hitman a secret from his cop boyfriend.Until he does.





	like a light i'm luring you

**Author's Note:**

> this is a meager offering for darknessandterrorandkitten's birthday!!! i hope you enjoy it dude!!! <333

There is one half pint of Cherry Garcia left. Eobard hums as he plucks it, taking in the fortuity that he’s found Cisco’s favorite brand of his favorite ice cream at three o’clock in the morning. He has learned, in his years of travels and disappointments and successes, that there is no such thing as fate - but there is coincidence. It was coincidence that led him to Cisco. Brought him to that bright smile and flash of teeth when he was searching for someone else entirely. It was Eobard's inability to slow either of them down that brought him to playing dutiful, devoted boyfriend after only two month of dating. **  
**

Eobard slides the ice cream on the gas station check out. He scoops a handful of $1 candy bars from the counter as well. Cisco has earned extra treats. A night spent gorging on his favorite sweets: ice cream and chocolate and Eobard’s softest, most teasing kisses. Cisco’s best friend is going to die tomorrow, after all. Eobard will be forced to watch him weep, watch him mourn, then brush away his sadness gentle touch by gentle touch. It will be bitter, stroking Cisco's cheeks with the hands that will murder his loved one.

Eobard owes him a sweet night.

-

There’s something gently appealing about parking his car next to Cisco’s under the carport. It’s more domestic than Eobard has ever lived, even before his blood cast him out like a disease and his only tenuous connections were with assassins and thieves and shadows. He has a drawer in Cisco’s closet dresser and a spare toothbrush in Cisco’s bathroom. It was one of the greatest risks he ever took, taking up Cisco on his offer for coffee and following him home a few days later. The rewards have been immeasurable.

He opens the front door with the key Cisco gave him. _It’s basically your place too, you know?_ He thinks of Cisco’s cheeks, bright in summer morning light, when Cisco pressed the metal to his palm.

“I’ve returned triumphant, my love.” Eobard uses his foot to close the door as he readjusts the plastic bag in his hand. “The ice cream you just had to have or you would die was actually at Johnny’s General.”

Eobard realizes he’s talking to nothing but air when he steps into the bedroom and doesn’t find Cisco, comfy and soft in his pajamas that consist of Eobard’s old shirt and boxers. Eobard frowns at the bed. There were no lights on in the living room or kitchen. When he steps into the hallway, he sees the bathroom door open. Empty.

A pin prick of unease breathes against Eobard’s neck. His muscles tighten. Years of turning corners and expecting knives to his throat or guns to his temple have left his body a bow string, taut and ready to kill at the barest pluck. He can sense when the air is heavy with intent. He can smell blood lust. He can hear the tattoo murmur of a terrified heart.

“Cisco?”

No response.

Eobard flicks laser focus to the door of Cisco’s office. It’s a cramped room with a desk that swallows most of the space, but Cisco has done three walls in cork board. Every case he takes home from the Central City Police Department winds up pinned to those walls. The few times Eobard has been allowed inside, he’s taken pleasure in watching Cisco’s strong, clever fingers scribble notes to post, connect red string between photos, brush over crime scenes and suspects. He’s not allowed inside often.

His fingers run bloodless and he drops the bag. Cisco is smart. Whip like, devastating and sharp and overwhelming. That intelligence, gorgeous in every way a person can be intelligent, is a halo that flashes always above Cisco’s glossy hair and feather soft skin. Eobard knows Cisco is smart.

But Cisco isn’t this smart. Not smart enough to snap Eobard’s tendons. Not smart enough to discover the one thing Eobard has been hiding from him.

“You’re not working while I’m out being the world’s best boyfriend, are you?” Eobard asks from outside the door. He wraps his knuckles on the wood, soft.

No response. When Eobard turns the knob, it’s locked.

Instinct has him uncurling his fingers. His heartbeat is even as he tells himself to fall back. Breathe calm. Breathe animal. Carve away emotion, humanity, and breathe as a weapon. Remember everything he’s learned.

Cisco has been driven into his work space by the insatiable itch of curiosity before. There is no reason to assume that Cisco is anything other than engrossed in his work. Eobard closes his eyes and tries to see the only man that has ever seen so much of him. He pictures Cisco, hair thrown back in a messy bun that Eobard will happily comb out, hands pressed to pictures of victims as if he can touch the truth with his fingertips. He pictures Cisco beautiful, and breathtaking, and compelling enough to tempt Eobard into nursing this connection beyond a few blood buzzing nights.

“My love,” Eobard says gently. Gentility is the greatest cloak of a predator, Eobard has learned, and it has always served him well with Cisco. “Your ice cream is melting.”

No response.

The wires in Eobard’s head spark. The reason Cisco isn’t answering becomes sharply irrelevant. He could be hurt on the other side of the door, he could be suffering, he could be unraveling the little tapestry Eobard has woven for himself. It doesn’t matter. Eobard needs to get his eyes on Cisco, needs to get his hands on Cisco. There is no time for patience.

Suburban houses are easy enough to destroy. Another thing Eobard has learned in his years as a murderer for hire. The door gives under Eobard’s boot after a few targeted kicks.

The wood splinters into Cisco’s office and Eobard pushes through. There are no curses being hurled at him, no yells sliding into the higher pitch that makes Cisco’s voice crack in the most endearing of ways. There is only Cisco, staring with wide, red rimmed eyes, one hand still on the cork board.

“You didn’t open the door,” Eobard says as he takes in the spread of information pinned to the wall.

There are photos of him - candids Cisco and his friend Iris have taken, one he doesn’t remember that shows him stepping out of a car in front of Ralph Dibny’s private detective agency. There is a photo of Dibny, too, as a chalk outline after Eobard put a bullet in the back of his head. The glossy faces of almost every person Clifford DeVoe hired him to kill stare back at him. Becky Sharpe. Mortimer Gloom - honestly, Eobard did that man a favor by strangling him.

Nestled next to Eobard’s picture in the middle is Barry Allen. The last hit on Eobard’s list. DeVoe never divulged what it was Barry knew about his research or his plans that painted the target on Barry’s skinny neck. DeVoe never gave any details, not about any of them, not about what they learned or why he needed Eobard to pick them off one by one. Eobard never cared.

“Well you’ve certainly been busy.” Eobard steps into the room. His chest compresses against the wild beat of his heart. He can hear it pounding ocean like against his ears. “I got your ice cream. Do you still want me to feed it to you while you watch Cloak and Dagger?”

Cisco still hasn’t spoken. It’s the longest Eobard has ever gone standing next to Cisco’s starlight without hearing Cisco speak. Even when Cisco has given him the silent treatment, a punishment which always comes with Cisco mumbling in Spanish before launching into a full explanation of why exactly Eobard was wrong. The silence is unnatural on Cisco’s lovely mouth. The stillness of him is too close to death.

“My love - ”

“No.” Cisco holds up his hand as he says it, palm out, fingers shaking. Eobard stills. “No. You don’t get to call me that. You don’t - you don’t get anything.”

Eobard raises his own hands in a mirror to Cisco. “Cisco. Sweetheart. I don’t know what happened between you sending me out for ice cream, which is still melting by the way, and now, but it looks like you’ve been busy. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to.”

He takes a half step forward. It’s an illustration of his patience, his faith. The movement only spooks Cisco. In a clumsy flutter of movement, Cisco pulls his gun from the band of his boxers and aims it at Eobard’s chest. Cisco sniffles but his hands don’t shake. His limbs are deceptively steady. Eobard can read the hesitation in his gaze, though. That’s more than enough to keep Eobard from disarming him.

“Don’t come any closer to me.”

“Calm down, Cisco. Think about what you’re doing. Who you’re pointing a gun at.”

“I said don’t take another fucking step.” Cisco reinforces his stance.

Eobard’s tongue itches with the urge to tell Cisco how cute he looks, trying to step into hardened cop mode while wrapped soft in his sleep clothes. Cisco hates it when Eobard calls him cute. Always pouts and finds his way to Eobard’s lap, trying to prove just how not adorable he is.

“What are you doing?” Eobard asks again. “What’s going on?”

Cisco shakes his head. “I always knew you were too good to be true.”

Eobard knows what he should do. He doesn’t know how Cisco sussed out the role Eobard has played in all the death pinned to the wall, how Cisco knows Barry is the last shining target. He needs to find out. He needs to know his weakness before it’s ever prodded and exploited again. He needs to coax out the how before he bleeds out the why, needs to squeeze everything Cisco knows from his soft, pretty throat. Then he needs to crush it. Bury Cisco and his evidence and his sources. Kill him. Kill him, then Barry, then run as fast as his connections can carry him.

“Please, Cisco. My sweet heart. My love. Please tell me what is going on.”

“It was the dinners that really tipped me off,” Cisco continues, voice cracking while the gun in his hand remains sure and steady. Despite the steel of his body, his mind, Eobard knows his heart. He could never pull the trigger.

That knowledge slows Eobard’s racing rage and pragmatism. Cisco could never pull the trigger - whatever he knows about Eobard, he could never divulge. There’s still time. There has to be.

“Cisco - ”

“You hate French food, but you kept taking me to Montresor. I knew you couldn’t like me enough to sit through that many dinners without having more than a salad.”

“You’re right,” Eobard assures him, smiling, thinking, forcing down memories of watching while Cisco gorged himself on silky rich food. Cisco always let Eobard devour him just as thoroughly afterwards. “I love you enough.”

“Just tell me why.” Cisco’s voice cracks with desperation. It’s wet and heavy, dragging itself along Eobard’s skin. Eobard shivers under it. “Why did you need me? To get to Barry?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop it! Just stop it, okay? Stop playing stupid. Stop pretending. Stop - whatever the fuck you’re doing, just stop. For once, just once, tell me the truth.”

Cisco looks so heartbreakingly desperate. Gaunt with hunger, trembling with need. Beauty destructed and left throbbing.

It’s almost enough to stop Eobard’s heart.

Eobard abruptly realizes that perhaps the course of action that will deliver his desires is to answer Cisco’s plea. There is no point in playing stupid. In pretending. Eobard has done it so long but he can admit, now and to himself, how he has ached to show Cisco everything. Not just more of his body and his past and his mind than anyone else has seen, but everything.

“Okay.” Eobard bends in the hopes that he can make Cisco break. He makes a show of sliding his hands into his pocket. Cisco watches him, Adam’s apple bobbing, beckoning Eobard closer. “Put the gun down, and I’ll answer whatever questions you have. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Learning how Cisco learned who he was is still the first, mosh fresh priority. Eobard wants to believe it’s because it’s Cisco. No one else could have pieced together a mystery that was seen as nothing but a wild string of murders in the city. Even if Cisco consulted others, they’re probably as clueless as they were before being granted the pleasure of Cisco’s presence. It’s only Cisco and the clean up will be easy, as long as Eobard can contain everything in Cisco’s pretty head.

If it’s only Cisco, then this is could be a boon. It’s proof of Cisco’s mental agility, his strength, his power, and if Cisco stays, it’s proof of his loyalty. His love.

“Put the gun down,” Eobard coaxes again.

“Suck a dick,” Cisco hisses, grip tightening around the weapon. Eobard bites back the fondness that swells. “You’re a killer for hire. You really think I’m stupid enough to put my weapon down?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all. I think you’re exceptionally intelligent. You know that.”

Eobard’s mouth moves on autopilot, parroting true praise to soothe Cisco’s nerves. It gives him a brief enough reprieve to consider his options. It would be simple enough to wrestle the gun away. Disable the weapon and its wielder. He could hide Cisco somewhere, keep him safe and secret while he crossed Barry Allen off his list, then smuggle Cisco out of the country. Draw out how exactly Cisco unearthed all Eobard had buried. Eobard has never used pleasure as an incentive to coax out the truth. He always relied on pain, on intimidation to drag answers bloody and bright, but Cisco has never responded to hurt. Eobard has no desire to use it.

Or he could fall into Cisco’s trembling gaze. He could answer Cisco’s questions while navigating through Cisco’s own minefields. Needle at all of Cisco’s threads while Cisco is trying to unravel him.

Cisco isn’t speaking. He’s barely breathing. The gun will start shaking soon. Cisco’s nerves will fray under Eobard’s teeth and Cisco will end up tangling himself in regret.

Eobard takes a step back.

“What do you want to know, Cisco?”

The question shocks Cisco - not enough to make him lose his tight coil control or for the gun in his fingers to rattle, but enough to make him look unsure. Uneasy. Afraid. Eobard has never seen Cisco wear such a mask. It’s enchanting.

“How do I know you’ll tell me the truth?”

Eobard shrugs, deciding to spin here in the unknown a little longer. There’s only so much time he can allow for this to unfold.

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to take me at my word.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“What do you want to know?” Eobard repeats. “What do you want me to tell you?”

“What do I want you to tell me?” Cisco’s voice cracks on the want. His fingers tighten around the gun and Eobard can see it in the sour of his mouth - he wants to run those fingers through his hair, wants to pace, wants to let loose his frustration. “I want you to tell me why Ramsey Deacon died in a freak explosion that was ruled an accident when he was one of the leaders of developing the tech that killed him?”

It’s a simple explanation. Eobard sabotaged his experiment, then found a safe distance from his lab to watch is explode. That was the night before he and Cisco first went to dinner. It had been coffee dates and one walk along the beach that ended with the least hesitant kiss Eobard ever received.

Cisco points the gun at a glossy photo. “I want you to tell me why Neil Borman and Izzy Bowin were found dead two weeks apart sporting handcuff welts on their wrists.”

Eobard legitimately considers explaining that was, in part, Cisco’s fault. Eobard held Izzy Bowin for three days - gave her music manager time to worry, look for her, separate her death from the string of bodies Eobard had left. He had meant to kill Neil Borman in his home, but as soon as Eobard had slipped inside, Cisco had called and asked, breathless, if he wanted to help Cisco test out his new bed. Eobard had never touched Cisco below the neck, never seen him stretched and smiling on cool sheets. What choice did Eobard have but to make sure Neil wouldn’t move while he answered Cisco’s call?

Cisco doesn’t wait for any response. He keeps waving his gun at the wall, accidentally circling closer to Eobard as his tremors increase. Eobard has minutes before Cisco steps over the line from controlled to controllable to a variable Eobard would be forced to eliminate.

“I want you to tell me why Mina Chaytan was poisoned after visiting Marlize DeVoe. Why Ralph Dibny - ”

Another tremble in Cisco’s throat. He had taken Ralph Dibny’s death personally, although Eobard never fully grasped why. Cisco admitted he had never enjoyed Dibny when the man was a fellow detective. Cisco stops himself. He settles in front of Eobard, a mass of vibrations and rage, eyes wet as he focuses the gun back at Eobard.

“Tell me why Ralph took a slug after Mina visited his agency.”

If not for the decades of training heavy on Eobard’s tongue, he would ask how Cisco possibly knew about the connection between Mina and Ralph. Eobard had been so careful to destroy any evidence. Curiosity burns his stomach, sharp along how deeply impressed he is with Cisco’s ingenuity, his skill.

“Well?” Cisco says, heat brimming his eyes. He shakes the gun. “You gonna start talking anytime soon?”

“Those are a lot of questions,” Eobard stalls. They don’t have time to do this here. Eobard doesn’t have time. He’ll need Barry’s blood on his hands before he can collected his final payment from DeVoe and he’ll need Cisco subdued before that. “I’m not sure where you’d like me to start.”

“Where I’d like you to start. Where I’d like you to - I accuse you of being part of some elaborate murder conspiracy and you just stand there like I’m complaining about the Titan’s trailer.” Cisco huffs.“Where I’d like you to start is at the beginning.”

Eobard tilts his head. “And where do you think this all begins, my love?”

And finally, the gun shakes.

As much as Eobard aches to continue circling each other, the time for testing waters has passed. The air is heavy with it. Eobard knows he must move quickly.

Growing up as a younger brother plus years at the CCPD has left Cisco with ample skill to take care of himself. The experiences of living aren’t enough to fortify him against Eobard, however.

Eobard rocks his weight forward, using momentum and Cisco’s grief to speed from under the threat of Cisco’s gun to Cisco’s side. It’s easy to wrestle the weapon from Cisco’s hand. Eobard has pulled the move a thousand times before, and Cisco’s grip has already gone slack, already lost fight. He kicks the gun across the hardwood floors Cisco had been so excited to find. He gets Cisco, squirming, cursing, locked between his arms.

“Hey, hey, no, Cisco.” Eobard speaks against Cisco’s ear. Tones his voice warm, his breathing even, his hold strong. He squeezes Cisco with enough strength to still and presses himself against Cisco’s back, holding, applying pressure as he murmurs for Cisco to calm. “It’s alright, my love. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” Cisco gasps, voice wet with pain.

Eobard rests his forehead against Cisco’s hair. He allows himself a deep, intoxicating breath before slipping his right forearm over Cisco’s throat. Cisco trashes. His nails dig into Eobard as he scratches and squirms and hisses. Eobard stares dully into the picture collage of his crimes.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Eobard brushes a kiss to Cisco’s cheek, applying firmer pressure to his windpipe. “If you believe anything, you must believe that. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

Despite everything, Cisco laughs. “My ass would like to firmly argue that.”

Despite everything, Eobard smiles. “If you’re referring to last weekend, then your ass asked for that.”

Slowly, so slowly it makes Eobard feel as if he’s suffocating under the weight of time itself, Cisco’s movements ease. The fingers clawing at Eobard’s grip soften. The demands Cisco spits fade into murmurs. The violent heat of Cisco’s body trying to buck his off simmers into something cool.

“There you go,” Eobard praises. “There you go, Cisco. Sweetheart.”

Cisco’s head lulls back. Eobard honestly can’t tell if it’s due to lack of oxygen or lack of fight. He tightens his grip. Kisses Cisco soft on the temple.

“Are you - are you gonna kill me?”

The words are barely a rasp. Cisco’s grip and stance are slipping. Eobard presses harder on his throat, half to keep him upright, half to push him over the edge into unconsciousness.

“I don’t want to.” It’s the most honest answer Eobard can give.

“H-hate you. I ha - hate - ”

“Shh.”

Cisco’s knees go first. They wobble then give. Eobard holds him through it, keeping him steady while lowering him to the ground. He waits until Cisco’s voice dies on his lips before laying Cisco out.

Sighing, Eobard runs his fingertips along Cisco’s cheek. Cisco looks so peaceful, lovely and sweet. Eobard brushes his mouth over Cisco’s forehead. He gives himself a moment of indulgence. It’s probably a moment too long.

There’s a burner phone in a compartment in his trunk. In a few quick calls he can have the Snarts chartering a plane out of country and Barry Allen in a perfectly precarious position. He won’t have to be in the city to collect DeVoe’s final payment. Everything will be fine, as long as he doesn’t linger. As long as he doesn’t let anything, anyone, slow him down.

With one soft, final kiss, Eobard pushes to his feet. He still has the handcuffs in his burn bag. They should hold Cisco long enough for Eobard to tidy up his loose ends.

“Don’t go anywhere, my love. I’ll be right back. And I promise, when we’re safe, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

-

When Eobard returns from the car, duffel swung over his shoulder, Cisco is no longer where Eobard left him. The window Cisco never bothered to curtain is open.

Irritation inflames Eobard from his very spine. But Cisco couldn’t have gotten far. Would have known Eobard would chase him.

Eobard doesn’t have much time to catch him. Something in the pressure, the pounding of time, makes Eobard’s heart race sharper. He drops his duffel. As he climbs through the window, he glances at the wall where Cisco broken open his secrets and spread them on display. How like Cisco to discover him. To excavate him raw and lay him out for examination.

“I’ll find you, my love. Just as you found me.”

When Eobard’s feet hit the ground, he’s never been more grateful for his speed.


End file.
